Left Here Lingering
by ALC Punk
Summary: Kitty Pryde attends a funeral and has an unexpected encounter.


Disclaimer: ... Ok. So, Marvel owns them. And there's no money being made from this, and thanks to the two of them just... GAH. Making me want to break things. Anyway. No money, no infringement, just playing, etc.  
  
Notes: So did not end up anywhere near where I thought it would. I mean... jesus. He wasn't even supposed to appear... And the tense is hopefully fixed, but half of it was written in present, and half not, and no, I have NO idea why this keeps happening to me.   
  
Rating: R. Language, sex.  
  
Left Here Lingering  
  
by Ana Lyssie Cotton  
  
It's not often Kitty Pryde thinks of Pete Wisdom. Less and less, really, as the years have passed. But for some reason, she's thinking of him now.  
  
Maybe it's the funeral she's at, the memories it stirs up. A cranky old man who thought she was a pagan American whore. Or worse. She just remembers being amused at him. He'd stunk, but he'd also cared. Underneath that aged and pissed-off exterior had been a man who missed his children, his wife. Who wished things had been better. It hadn't been.  
  
She'd only met him just that once, when he'd tried to save Pete's life. And perhaps that's why she's here, now. One of the few people attending to the burial of a man no one seems to have missed.  
  
The priest said a few words, then had let everyone bow their heads in prayer.  
  
Unless she was mistaken, the few men around her were cops. Policemen who had once known Detective Sergeant Harold Wisdom, back when he was a smart and intelligent criminal profiler for New Scotland Yard. Some of them might actually miss them.  
  
They didn't seem to notice her. Or simply didn't know what to make of the slim American woman who had silently joined them.  
  
Perhaps, she thinks as they all file slowly out of the room, they think she's there to gawk.  
  
"Miss?"  
  
Or perhaps they're just not sure.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Did you..." The man was grizzled, a veteran of a thousand back alley fights, his knuckles now knotted with age and more. He looked down at the hat he was slowly mangling, then seemed to come to a conclusion. "Why are you here?"  
  
"I knew him." Simple statement. Fact.  
  
"Ah." He looked back at the others, as if gathering courage, then nodded shortly. "Would you like to come down the pub?"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
The group was quiet, for the most part. Either shy or just reticent in the presence of a stranger. But after the third round they'd settled in and talked quietly about the man they had known. He'd been good at his job, not a saint, but not a devil either. Most of them had lost touch when he'd left the force. But a few had seen him once or twice or more. For poker and beer, or just because they were checking up on him. He hadn't liked that. Used to rail about them using him as a charity case.  
  
"And then there was that kid of his." One of the men said, his voice thick with derision. "I used to hear about him doing 'great things'. Bosh. As if his dad didn't need him."  
  
"He paid the rent," Kitty said quietly. It was the first thing she'd really said other than a few grunts or yes's.  
  
Her companions gaped at her a moment, then one of the others snorted. "And how do you know that, missy?"  
  
Deep breath. Don't let them intimidate you, Kit, love. They're just defending one of their own. As am I. "I met him. He and Pete... They used to go at it like cats and dogs. But... He was paying his dad's rent."  
  
"Just told you that, did he?" Another scoffed.  
  
"No." Half-grin. "I hacked his bank account and checked."  
  
There were blinks again, and then a few chuckles of approval. "Smart girl."  
  
"Hey, missy. You lookin' for a man?"  
  
"Erm. No."  
  
"Aw, but me grandson'd like you. Into computers he is."  
  
"Thank you, but, uh..."  
  
"She's married."  
  
It was inevitable that she'd hear that voice. He *would* be here, against all the odds. And he would be saying stupid and ridiculous things. She turned and gave him an irritated glance. "I thought I told you to wait at the hotel."  
  
As if they'd seen each other that morning instead of five years ago. As if he wasn't supposed to be dead and buried and gone.  
  
Pete Wisdom shrugged, his blue eyes meeting hers for a moment. And she shivered at the blankness in them. That used to mean he was simply controlling what he was thinking. But after hearing some of what he'd done, she wasn't so sure anymore. "Got bored. Honey."  
  
Whether he meant it or not, the endearment still made something dance along her nerves. "I'll pay this round up, then go, gentlemen."  
  
They were all eyeing the two of them, disturbed. Or perhaps amused. Or something else. She wasn't up to deciding on that anymore. The man who'd asked her to come with them nodded slowly, then gave her a slight smile. "Keeping him in line, I hope?"  
  
"Always." She smiled at him, then stood and made her way to the cash register. Handing over enough to cover at least three more rounds, she thanked the startled man for his hospitality and left.  
  
Pete trailed after her. The acrid scent of cigarette smoke started almost the second they were out the door, and she turned back to see him dragging on a new fag. "Didn't give those up, I see."  
  
"Was I ever planning to?"  
  
She shrugged and turned away to walk back towards the tube station. She had a life to get back to, a holiday to finish up. A degree to complete. There was no room for the sort of complications Pete Wisdom walking back into her life implied.  
  
"Why did you come?" His voice was harsh and full of what might have been pain.  
  
"To say goodbye." Now she could feel the tears she couldn't let fall for Harold Wisdom, earlier. And they weren't for him anyway.  
  
"You didn't even--"  
  
"I did know him, Pete. Or do you forget that he saved your life six years ago?"   
  
He muttered something.  
  
"I didn't catch that, Wisdom. Want to try again?" And, god. Now she wanted to hit him. For no other reason than because he's now there. And this is stupid. She's crying. She's not supposed to cry in front of him. He probably thinks it's a feminine wile to get him to do something.  
  
"You weren't supposed to be here."  
  
"Neither were you."  
  
"He was my *father*!"  
  
"I know!" She yelled back, whirling to face him. Then she giggled, the sound completely wrong. "This is such a stupid conversation. Just... go away."  
  
They stood there, staring at each other. Really looking. Noticing things, Kitty could see what had to be a slight bit of grey in his hair. And there were careful lines around his eyes. A thin scar on his neck--and that hadn't been there before. And she wondered if he could see the memory of falling to earth in the way she moved so carefully. Being broken has always been easy.   
  
He ran a hand through his hair and took another drag on his cigarette.   
  
"I'm going back to my hotel."  
  
"You do that."  
  
It's different now. Neither of them has moved, but it feels strange to stand there, silent. And she wondered which of them would look away first.   
  
"Ow! Shit." He threw down the burnt-out cigarette and sucked at the fingers he'd neatly singed. "Damnit."  
  
"Idiot."  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Shrew."  
  
"Cold-hearted bastard."  
  
"Frigid computer geek."  
  
"Dumbass."  
  
"Bitch."  
  
"Twit."  
  
"Idiot."  
  
She's half-grinning at him, realising they've moved again. Standing so close she can feel his chest if she breathes out. "I said that already."  
  
"I know." His breath is on her lips. And for a moment, that's all she can feel.  
  
Then they're kissing. And he tastes like beer and cigarettes and Pete. And it hasn't been five years. It was yesterday and she'd caught him in the hallway, shocking Rahne by shoving him into a closet, half-dressed while she kissed her way down his chest. And that place had been off-limits for hours (Rahne never had forgiven her for the desecration). She groaned as his arms tighten around her, buried her hands in his hair and hangs on.  
  
Because things have changed, but they're the same.   
  
--  
  
Sweat-soaked sheets, and she wondered how the hell this happened. And then he arches under her and she knows. This has always been easy for them. Physical release ignoring emotion. And, oh, GOD he's learned some new things--but then, so has she. And who knew an old spy like him could learn new tricks like this? There are parts of him that have changed. Pieces of skin that are dappled with more scars, knives and talons and burns. And he's thinner in some places, and the muscles are harder in others. And she knows she's the same. They haven't done this in far too long, but they still remember.  
  
And when it's over, she perched above him, breathing heavily and looking down at his closed eyes. And can feel him withdrawing from her. Feel the cold mask settle down over him.  
  
"It's all right."  
  
His eyes flickered open, and the cold blue gaze touched her.  
  
She half-smiled. "No strings, Pete."  
  
Their hands are still entwined, and she considered not letting go. But he stiffens, his body wanting to get away. And she let him go, carefully got off of him and began walking around the room to gather up his clothing.  
  
"Was that all this was? A quick fuck and then goodbye?" His voice was harsh. He wanted to make her hurt.   
  
"I'm sorry." She looked at him. "Am I not being business-like enough for you? Shall I make out a check, or is that your job." Jesus. When did she get that cold? But she has to be. Because even now, she still can feel what it feels like to love him, to care, to want to make his pain go away. And it's not her job anymore.   
  
"Check." And he looked disturbed. "Pryde, what--"  
  
"No strings, Pete. Mutual gratification." She was smiling fully now, but it isn't pleasant. "You're still quite fuckable especially since none of your parts have fallen off."  
  
When he didn't answer, simply gaped, she laughed. "What, did you think I was going to require candles and chocolates? That I'd beg to have you back in my life because I wasn't complete without you?" Skirting too close to the edge, and, god, that hurts, Kitty. Don't think about it. "That I had to marry you and have happy fat babies?"  
  
Now that was ridiculous. And too far, probably.  
  
"No. I--" He rubbed a hand across his face and stood. "Where are my clothes?"  
  
She handed them to him and disappeared into the bathroom. Her toothbrush was still sitting by the sink and she used it, then stared at her reflection for a while. This wasn't like her. And those things she'd said... She closed her eyes and leaned over to splash cold water on her suddenly warm cheeks.  
  
"Pryde?"  
  
Damn. And here she'd been hoping he'd leave.   
  
"Almost done."  
  
But he was never an easy man to dissuade. And so the door opened. Pete leaned against the doorjamb and looked at her. "Why?"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Do you hate me, Pryde? Is there some obssesive need with you to pay me back for walking out on you?"  
  
She shrugged. "You died. I figured that was good enough."  
  
"And that's it."   
  
"Yup."  
  
He moved into the bathroom and slowly stepped up to stare at her in the mirror. "You don't miss me, you don't crave me, you have moved on and gotten on with your life." His tone is cold and mocking.  
  
She shrugged, "Pretty much."  
  
"You were never good at lying to me." He said softly, stepping close enough to slide an arm around her waist.  
  
"Only when it counted." She tried to fight the pull, but couldn't, and found herself turning her face to his. Lips grazed her cheek.  
  
"And does it always count?"  
  
"Sometimes." A shudder went through her, and she put a hand up to his face, covering his mouth. "This... this isn't us anymore."  
  
"I know." His voice was muffled behind her palm. His tongue slipped out and tasted her palm, caressing it.  
  
Fire danced along her nerves for a moment, and then she pulled back from the precipice, leaning against the wall. "We've moved on, Pete. We're not..."  
  
He shrugged, "And those things you said, earlier?"  
  
"I was never the romantic child you took me to be."  
  
"No." And he looked sad as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. "You never were, were you."  
  
When he was gone, when she'd rebrushed her teeth and washed her hands and found her clothes and put the towels back up for the tenth time. When she had nothing more to do, no busy work to keep her hands from shaking, she called room service and had them send up coffee. But it was bitter and tasted like Moira's, and the memory was too much. Her control broke and she sank onto the bed, crying. For what was, what could have been, and what wouldn't be.  
  
Because she had a life to get back to, and it didn't include being a mutant vigilante.  
  
-finis-  
  
Notes: Songs that influenced this, and caused strange thoughts...  
  
Sarah MacLachlan - 'Circles', 'Good Enough', 'Wait'  
  
Sister Machine Gun - 'Disease'  
  
Tea Part - 'Walking Wounded'  
  
Nickelback - 'Figured You Out'  
  
Everything But the Girl - 'Before Today'  
  
Fluke - 'Atom Bomb'  
  
Nitzer Ebb - 'Kick It'  
  
And can I say that having 'Figured You Out' come on when I'm trying to write serious dialogue is, well, torture? And WRONG? And that I was also suckered by about four Depeche Mode songs that I had to click past to get onto something unsexual? I swear, my playlist... Has it in for me. 


End file.
